


It was never just the gloves

by sherlock221Bismymuse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Heavy Angst, I'm Sorry, M/M, Major character death - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 11:02:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16638701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlock221Bismymuse/pseuds/sherlock221Bismymuse
Summary: It's too short for a summary and I can't apologize enough for the angst and trauma!Please heed tags. I wrote this a while ago and there was never a good time to post it.....there never can be.It killed me to write it but it has been sitting in my Mycroft folder for ages and starting to haunt me. So here goes....Please note that the gloves being referred to are Mycroft's !!( Thanks Tipsylex for mentioning the possible confusion!)





	It was never just the gloves

_No it wasn’t the same._

The black leather gloves that had held him steady, pressed against the small of his back when he was about to do something rash and impulsive.

_Steady on brother mine. Breathe._

The same leather gloves that had held the umbrella open over both their heads as they walked in the drizzle, unwilling to end the evening and go home, because it would mean having to take separate roads to get them each to their own. He would sometimes pretend to drift while walking too close under it, and would manage to rub his cheek against that glove and get a fond smile in return.

The leather gloves that had rested on his thigh when they sat in the back of the car, always careful despite the barrier between them and the driver. The soft almost lazy strokes that had the effect of making him hold his breath and feel as tightly coiled as a tiger crouching back before it sprang.

The leather gloves that sometimes stayed on right through the overwhelmingly urgent and frantic trysts they had-- ---often not even being able to go beyond the hallway, pressed against the closed front door, the tiger claiming his prey.

_Now, right NOW Mycie. Can’t wait…don’t stop…please_

The leather gloves had pinned him by his wrists above his head, pushing him against the wall while he was kissed till he couldn’t breathe and his head was spinning with lust and want.

.

.

The leather gloves were bespoke with the lightest soft lining. _Just like his brother_. Everyone thought there was an iron fist inside the gloves, and maybe there was for the rest of the world. But for his little brother, it had only ever been the softest lining.

It was never the leather gloves but the masterful hand inside it that had centered him, stilled that constant noise in his brain, reduced the storm of deductions to one lightening rod.

The touch on his cheek, a caress, moving down to his neck sending shivers down his spine and jolts of desire to his entire body.

.

.

No, it simply didn’t work without the hand inside it Sherlock thought as he sat in his brother’s bedroom, holding the glove against his cheek, not caring if it was getting soaked in tears, as he waited for them to start the funeral.


End file.
